


What Is Left to Live For

by Akiran, runbravelybackward (victorienne)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Artificial Humans, Blood, Dom/sub, Genetic Engineering, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Kink, Needles, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiran/pseuds/Akiran, https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorienne/pseuds/runbravelybackward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Crocker has just graduated from medical school as an experimental physician who performs experiments on synthetic humans--artificial humans created in labs and implanted with chips to inhibit emotion and independent though, making them the perfect substitute for natural humans in testing. John's experiments have already greatly improved the quality of life of all humans, and he's expected to revolutionize the entire field of study. But when he receives one of the first of a new line of synthetic humans from his dad as a graduation present, everything changes. This prototype is vastly superior to others previously made, but the alterations to its genetic makeup have made it incompatible with previously made emotion-inhibiting chips. Until one can be manufactured, John has to go about his work on a test subject with a mind and will of its own, and he'll find his own conceptions sorely tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really awful and self-indulgent and angsty, and I don't even have the excuse of writing a request this time I'm sORRY
> 
> (The title is the name of a song on Erdenstern's album, [Into the Grey](http://www.erdenstern.de/music/intothegrey/).)

Your name is John Crocker, and you're absolutely thrilled about the graduation present your dad got for you--even though you're not supposed to know what it is. You've spent more than a little while trying to figure out whether or not you should even bother to act surprise. It's kind of expected by now that you pretty much find out everything before you're supposed to. After all, that's exactly what experimental physicians are supposed to do nowadays: find out things commonly thought of as forbidden knowledge by any means necessary. And being that you graduated from Earth's finest private university for medicine--at the top of your class, no less--you're already widely considered to be among the best at what you do. Your dad has never been prouder of you. And that's saying something.

So for his sake, after your party when he tells you to go look in your room for his gift to you, you feign ignorance, but none of your excitement or curiosity is an act. You speed into the lobby of your small complex inside your parents' home, the automatic soundproof door sliding aside as you rush in. Sitting on your large cream-coloured faux leather couch is your new synthetic human. You've already read its whole file and seen its pictures, but even so, you never expected it to be this... breathtaking. It's an early version of a new model designed to have enhanced capabilities in speed and agility. The manufacturers are still working on counteracting the cosmetic side effects of the component that increases their speed, but it's fully functional. You first thought that your dad just got the cheapest top-line model he could find, that he got one sub-par to some models that will come out in the very near future. Not that it was much less exciting to you--you were still thrilled. But now that you see it (you're almost tempted to say "he," it looks so much like an natural human), you wouldn't trade this one for any new model. Its pale skin and hair are so light that they seem to almost be luminescent, and as it looks up at you, you have to catch your breath. Its eyes are a beautiful ruby red that are both eerily piercing and aesthetically stunning, especially in contrast to the near colorlessness of the rest of his features.

"It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but I know that's what you like."

You turn to see your dad standing in the doorway, looking on. "It's great, Dad! Thank you. I'm really excited to start working on it."

"Don't forget about the delicate skin--it's sensitive to light. You might want to work on that first. But I'm sure you know all this, so I'll leave you to it. Congratulations, John. I'm so proud of you."

Warmth rushes to your cheeks when you realize you stood no chance at keeping your prior discovery a secret from your dad. He somehow just knows everything. "Thanks, Dad."

He breaks his almost constant stoicism to give you a small smile before leaving the room.

Your eyes sparkling, you move closer to your present to examine it. But as you move closer, you see that, despite its pretty ballsy constant eye contact, it's shaking quite badly. Its file said that it and its fellow prototype were incompatible with all known behavioral chips. This is nothing like the test subjects you worked on in school; they were clearly just animals, if that--they had no life in their eyes, no personalities, no thoughts of their own. But this one is so... alive. You can almost see the wheels of its mind turning, and its eyes are bright with measured defiance. But as you approach and stretch out your hand to shake its hand (it seems like the polite thing to do), it scrambles back and away from you, and it somehow feels like someone drove a knife through your heart. You've had test subjects' chips go haywire, but they've always just gone into a brutal rage. You've heard of workers without chips or with chip malfunctions killing people or destroying buildings. But you've never seen one who was afraid before. Yet if you just saw this one on the street, aside from its eyes and pale skin, you would think it was a naturally born human, like you. You have a strange and unexpected urge to just hug it, but that would probably do more harm than good, for both of you.

Instead, you sit down as close to it as you figure you can without scaring it more. Its defiant glare is back now, and to be honest, you think you like that better. "Hi! I'm John Crocker. What's your name?"

It takes a moment to consider before responding. "You know my name. It's in my fucking file."

You're taken aback by his answer, but you choose not to respond based on his irreverence. "Yeah, I know they called you by your project name, 'Crow,' but every human has to have a registered real name."

It hesitates a while before opening its mouth again. "Dave Strider."

"Is it ok if I call you Dave?"

A slight quirk of its eyebrows are the only indication that it's surprised, but it shrugs at you. "Fine."

Your next question seems strange, even to you, but you can't help but ask. "Did you want to be called 'he' or 'she' or... something else?"

All synthetic humans come standard with both male and female parts--ostensibly for the purpose of testing, but you know that's not generally how those parts are used; it makes you kind of sick to think of it--but Dave quickly responds, "'He.'"

You nod and force a smile. "Ok, Dave. Nice to meet you!"

You can see Dave weighing his options, trying to figure out how to respond. You doubt anyone's ever even called him by his name before. "Why are you doing this? I know who you are, and I know what you're going to do with me. Are you trying to fuck with me, learning my name? not calling me 'it?' not treating me like what I am--one of your fucking test subjects? I know what you are, John Crocker, and I know what you do. You're not going to turn me into a fucking pet by being nice. Striders don't do docile."

You open your mouth to reply, but you don't even know how. Your eyes are glued to his face, which is contorted with a look of total disgust and contempt. No one's ever looked at you like that. It feels like someone just kicked you in the stomach.

It's not like you never knew that your vocation had some slightly dubious connotations, but hearing it from the mouth of someone who was likely the victim of at least one test gone wrong--in some ways, his whole life was a test gone wrong--who looked like he may have even been mistreated by his manufacturers--and was sentient enough to be aware of and permanently hurt by it--isn't something you ever expected to happen. This "gift" has already been one of the most painful experiences of your life.

But he's not going to make you question the worth of your research. Testing has the power to improve all humans' lives. And you're not going to let them down.

You stand up and go to the door of the test subject room you had made for a live-in synthetic you'd always expected to buy for yourself after graduation. After making a few small adjustments on the editing panel next to the door, you press a button to open the lock.

"This is your room, Dave. It has a bed and a small attached bathroom. And I added a little entertainment system with movies and games and stuff." He seems like someone who would get bored easily, and it just wouldn't feel right to let him sit there with nothing to do when you were busy with other things.

He knows that he doesn't really have a choice but to go inside, but as he passes you, he gives you a look that tells you you haven't defeated him yet. You watch him look around the room to make sure that he doesn't have any major objections. So when he turns back to look at you without a word, you nod at him.

"Night, Dave. We start work tomorrow morning."

Before he can say anything in response, you hit the lock button again, and the opaque door slides shut. You know he won't be able to get out of there (the materials used to build synthetic containment areas are among the strongest ever made), but you still don't think you'll sleep well tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

When you get up, it's already mid-morning. You find it a nice change from having to wake up before dawn to get ready for class. But the elation of being free of school obligations promptly fades when you remember the events of last night. You're not really sure what you expected from a synthetic without a chip,but Dave definitely wasn't it. Despite your frustration with him, you decide to keep up your optimism. It would be easier if you could just wait a few months for the manufacturers to make a chip for Dave, but the labs you've signed contracts with expect you to be turning out results right away--even more so now that your dad has probably made such a unique synthetic's registration to you official. You know they'll pay a premium to have even basic tests results you get from Dave. And despite your hesitation to work on a synthetic without a chip, your clients might even see that as a bonus. You don't really have a choice.

Before you get in the shower, you press the wake-up button on the panel that sends a signal to the alert system in Dave's room. (You'd found the preset alert sounds horrible and jarring, so you replaced each of them with much an individual bird call, which you found much more pleasant.) You're not planning on putting him through anything too much today, and ordinarily (you've spent years dreaming of having a synthetic, so you've had plenty of time to plan every detail), you wouldn't have gotten him up this early. But you decide you'd like to have breakfast--though it's technically closer to brunch now--with him. Despite the tongue lashing you received last night, you'd love to talk with him more and get to know him a little, especially knowing that, after the chip arrives in a few months, your opportunity will be gone. Emotional inhibitors are designed to be unhackable and irremovable, so you may as well take advantage of Dave's unusual situation while you can.

When you finish getting ready, you head over to Dave's door and unlock it. He's sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, but as soon as you appear in the doorway, his bright red gaze shifts and locks onto you.

"Ready for breakfast, Dave?"

He responds by sighing heavily and glaring at you as he gets up and walks out of his room into the living room/dining room of your personal complex. You shut the door again, taking a deep breath before you gesture to the table which has been laid out with a large variety of breakfast dishes--you weren't sure what he liked, so you figured you'd order up everything you could in hopes that something would catch his eye. You gesture to Dave's seat before settling yourself onto the one opposite him. He seems slightly confused for a moment before sitting down, his eyes wandering over the large spread on the table. He glances at you, and you can see a bit of wonder and a bit of distrust in his eyes, despite his stoic expression. You've always been good at reading people, and you recognize that expression as someone who's afraid you're going to pull a bait-and-switch. So you take a chocolate éclair and pour yourself some orange juice, trying to show him that it was all safe.

"I just thought it would be cool to have a 'Welcome Home' breakfast. We can talk more casually since we kind of got off on the wrong foot yesterday." You almost wince as you remember, but you do your best to block that incident from your mind for now and make this as pleasant as possible.

He looks back and forth between you and the food a couple times before taking a double-chocolate doughnut. Despite his wariness, he seems to be looking for something that's not readily apparent.

"Anything else you need, Dave?"

His eyes immediately lock on to yours when you say his name--and for some weird reason, you decide you like that. "Yeah, do you have any apple juice?"

You grin at him and get up to go to your pantry call panel. After scrolling through the beverage list, you select apple juice (and add it to your favorites list so it'll be quicker to find if Dave wants it again another time), and in a moment, the hatch next to the panel slides open to reveal a pitcher of fresh apple juice. You set it down on the table, close to Dave, and sit back down as he pours himself a glass.

The two of you eat your breakfast in silence--you can't even think of how to start talking to him. He's avoided looking at you, and you're feeling rather uncertain. He looks less hateful and more wary now, but you don't want to destroy the progress you've made.

So you quietly ask, "How's the food?"

He glances up at you before looking back down at his plate. "It's good. Thanks."

From the way he's inhaling large portions of everything on the table, you wouldn't be surprised if he'd never eaten like this before. You contemplate shoveling in some more yourself just so that he can't eat everything available and get sick afterward. But a few minutes of silent eating later, he sits back and, when he thinks you're not paying attention, looks up at you. Rather than his unabashed anger from last night, he seems to be more curious now, though hesitant. You just manage to suppress a smile the difference in his demeanor resulting from just having breakfast together.

But once you reach the last couple pieces of pancake, you realize it won't last much longer. You're tempted to call off even the limited exam and tests you had lined up for today just to have a little more peace. But you can only pretend that he doesn't hate your guts for so long, so after you chug the last of your orange juice, you get up and give him the nicest smile you can, under the circumstances.

"Ready?"

The change in his expression is immediate, and your heart sinks as he scowls at you.

You press the button on the side of the table that moves it down to a cleaning area underneath the floor before gesturing toward the door to your lab and clinic on the other side of the room. Dave's expression is utterly defeated as he heads toward where you're pointing. After you open the door, you both know, from experience, where to go. Your entry procedures are very similar, kept separate mostly for the purposes of privacy, though the privacy is intended mostly for you and any natural human patients you might have rather than for synthetics who, with their chips, don't experience a need for privacy. But even though you don't intend to have any natural human patients or subjects, you're glad you had the two separate areas installed, for Dave's sake.

Once you enter your side and close the door, you take off your clothes and put them in a hamper to pick up afterward and trade your glasses for contact lenses, then enter a small decontamination chamber. After a few cycles in there, the door forward unlocks, and you enter the sterile scrub room where you don your scrubs, cap, gloves, and mask. Even though disease and infection prevention laws don't apply to working with synthetic humans, and you're not even required to do more than just walk into the clinic with your regular clothes on, your time in school taught you that decontamination should be required, and you've always liked the idea of prepping the exact same way for synthetics' procedures as for natural humans'. To you, the most important thing is protecting life, and that doesn't exclude synthetics.

Once you're ready, you enter the clinic itself to find Dave standing next to the exam table, looking around, mesmerized. You picked out every part of the clinic yourself, from the soft blue paint, to the one-way windows that span the clinic's length that look out onto the enclosed garden that's part of your cousin's complex across the way from yours, to the synthetic wood cabinets and flooring and the padded exam table. Since you could afford all this, you figured you may as well make your work environment livable.

"Different from what you expected?" you ask with a bit of amusement in your voice.

He turns to face you so quickly that you can clearly see the improvement in his reflexes over natural humans'. "Yeah, really different."

At the hint of amazement in his voice, you smile behind your mask. "If you're done sightseeing, you can hop up on the table."

After glancing around for a few more moments, Dave turns to you and gives you a look that probably wasn't meant to appear as vulnerable as it did. Before you fully decide if it's a good idea or not, you try to reassure him.

"It's ok, Dave. I'm not gonna do much today--just a quick check-up and a little skin sample to run some tests and see what I can do about your sensitivity to light. Sound ok?"

He opens his mouth to say something that, from his barely perceptible changes of expression, looks like it was either going to be something protesting your assumption that he needed comforting or thanking you for that same assumption. But instead, he just opts for, "Yeah. There's not much choice anyway, right?"

You shrug. "Yeah, there is. If you don't want me to do this stuff, I won't. I'm not going to force you."

His mocking laugh and haughty sneer almost make you jump in surprise. "As if you're going to ask for my agreement when I have a chip in--when I'm fucking braindead. Don't act like such a saint, Crocker. I'm sure you've strapped 'synthetics' to tables before, ripped them open, drawn out more of their blood than you needed, done every fucking thing you could without killing them. And the only reason you wouldn't kill them? Because you'd have to pay for them afterward, and you rich little assholes think it's ok to play with life but not to even pay for a new one to fuck around with."

The sharp difference in tone throws you off again, but you take a deep breath, trying not to allow yourself to tell him what you'd tell most of the public: that things like that never happen, that they're all allegations by people trying to subvert the industry of synthetics. But you know, from your own experience that it's not true. He's right--things like that do happen. You've seen them happen. But you've never allowed them to continue happening, if you could prevent them.

"I didn't become a doctor to hurt people. When I was a kid, I got really sick, and I would have died if it weren't for my being able to join a group of synthetics for treatment by an experimental physician. The treatment wasn't proven yet, but she heard about me from other doctors and offered the procedure to me herself. The treatment was pretty unrefined then, and it was pretty dangerous. I still have damage from it--I can't just have my vision corrected like most people do. So I kind of know what it's like to be experimented on, even when the results aren't really right. But I still owe that doctor and the synthetics it was tested on before me my life. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not trying to fuck around with people's lives. I'm trying to fix as many as I can."

After what seems like several minutes of total silence, Dave asks quietly, "What do you mean, they can't fix your vision?"

You shake your head. "I'm almost completely blind without my glasses or contacts. They basically are my eyes--they transmit the data they take in to my brain so that it can process that as what I'm seeing. The only way to really fix it would be a full transplant."

"Why not do it, then?"

"Eyes are kind of special. Even after thousands of years, people still call them 'windows to the soul.' It would be easier with eyes that actually work, but they kind of wouldn't ever be mine." You pause and laugh nervously. "I guess I shouldn't have really told someone who hates my guts that I'm semi-blind!"

He shrugs and gives you what you think might be a small smile. "I'm not going to touch you." Without further hesitation, Dave gets up on the exam table, smoothing his exam gown around himself. "Come on, Crocker. Let's get going here--I have shit to do."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So a while back, runbravelybackward, the author of this fic, put their works up for adoption, because a busy schedule prevented them from being continued. I found that post, and was really interested in seeing this story continued, so I asked if I could adopt it!
> 
> I really love the author's style for this story, and I hope mine is at least satisfactory enough for all the followers of this fanfic. I apologize if I'm not up to par, but I hope you guys can help me out and make this an amazing piece of work. c: Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> _A note from runbravelybackward: I'm sure there will probably be (and has already been) a bit of concern for some people as to whether Akiran has my permission to write this/if she's following my original plans for the fic/etc. She does very much have my permission and encouragement to continue the fic--I've been very busy, and I'm not sure when I would be un-busy enough to return to this myself or if I would still have the interest in finishing it then. And since it's always sad when fics are just abandoned, I put out a call on my[tumblr](http://oldthymerhyming.tumblr.com) to see if anyone would like to adopt a fic that I had started and not finished. Akiran asked if What Is Left to Live For was available to be adopted, and we spoke a bit about what I had planned for the rest of the fic. She has expressed interest in much of what I had planned for the fic's storyline, but as the story goes on, she will be the best person to decide how the story should play out. So whether she uses all or bits and pieces or none of what I had planned for the fic, I think she'll do a great job. Thanks for reading, guys._

The check-up passes fairly smoothly. Dave cooperates and is fairly impassive, so you manage to proceed quickly. The results of the basic check-up are above average—his reflexes are great, his vision is 20/20, and his hearing range is even a little better than a normal human’s.

“Do you have a headache?” you ask carefully.

He looks at you blankly before replying. “Kind of.” His voice wavers in the form of a question, as if wondering why you asked so suddenly.

The answer surprises you just a little. He has some pretty bad photophobia. The lighting in the clinic is almost minimal currently, because it’s afternoon and the windows are bringing in enough light that most of your fluorescent overheads are turned off, yet he’s already got a headache. You walk over to a nearby drawer and take out an ophthalmoscope (a great part of going through your classes was learning all the names of the everyday tools you now use). “I’m going to shine a light in your eyes, okay? Just look straight ahead for me.”

It’s not a big feat for him, considering that looking straight ahead has been one of the only actions he’s been doing all day. His pupils dilate quickly once the light is properly directed, and his slight wince at the sudden brightness doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn off the ophthalmoscope and put the tool back into your drawer as Dave exhales.

“I probably won’t be able to cure your sensitivity to light—but I can give you this, at least,” you remark amiably as you walk to another drawer and rummage around. You come up with a pair of aviators that you had bought previously on a vacation but had never worn, and hand them to him. “I recommend you wear them all day, unless you’re sleeping obviously! Wearing them will probably get rid of your headaches, since your eyes will process less light.”

He glances at you, unsure, and you get another glimpse of his startlingly red pupils as they dart around the room. You’re kind of sad that you won’t see them as much when he starts wearing the sunglasses, but hey, you’ll also see less of the accusing glare he sometimes does that often stabs straight at your heart. Hopefully the relatively mild testing you’ve done so far has made him less wary—or at least more trustful of you. So far, it’s seemed that way, especially after you told him about your eyes.

By the time you jolt yourselves out of your thoughts, Dave has the aviators on, and is waiting for you.

“Hey! You look really cool with those!” you blurt out.

It’s harder to register the look of surprise on his face with the glasses on, but it’s there. It soons turns into a smug grin. “’Cause I’m the coolest, of course.”

Yup! Your relationship is definitely getting better, no doubt!

The rest of the testing goes by quickly as well. You take a couple of samples from him, mostly skin, hair, and nails, and set them aside to send off later. For now, you decide you can’t do much about his sensitive skin, but you do give him some prick tests to see if he’s allergic to any materials. You’re happy to see he doesn’t react to any of it, and that his skin is simply sensitive to sunlight.

“That complex on the other side;” Dave begins as you examine his arm, “is it yours?”

“Nope! It’s my cousin’s. We do pretty similar work, except he entered the field earlier than I did. Actually, he has a synthetic too,” you muse back. You regret your words as your watch Dave’s expression cloud over. Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would you mention other synthetics to him? You quickly change the topic. “Hey, you’re free to go into that garden over there too, if you want. There’s plenty to do around here, and I won’t lock you up in your room the entire day when I have work.” You really hope you don’t regret your words later, and that he doesn’t run away—or worse. On the other hand, you successfully diverted his attention from the topic of other synthetics. “Also, if you do go outside for a while, you should probably wear sunscreen—otherwise you might come back in looking like a tomato, hehe.”

Your comment was duly noted by him with a snort.

“Alright, so we’re done for today! I need to stay for a couple minutes, but you can leave without me—you know where to go. That wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

“No,” he replies with his lips pursed, “but it only gets worse, doesn’t it?”

Crap. You bite your lip and don’t reply, glancing from his face to a nearby countertop. The samples you collected today are getting sent out as soon as possible, and no doubt are the labs going to be happy with even your basic results, but there’s also no doubt that they’re always going to be itching for more results and more experiments. Ones that they can really take advantage of synthetics to perform.

They want you to test diseases on him.

You look back at him. “I can’t really say,” you mumble, as your hand rubs behind your neck.

“That’s all I needed to hear, though.” The door clicks shut silently, and you realize that he’s already left the room.

You sigh, exhaling out your exasperation. Testing on synthetics with chips is entirely different from ones without chips, as you thought, but the fact that Dave has feelings—the fact that he’s basically _human_ is something that’s really tearing at you. He’s going to have to go through all your experiments and all the testing, but he’s going to experience it like any normal person would—except no normal person has to go through tests like these.

“How the fuck am I going to do this?” you mutter aloud, rubbing at your temples. It’s only your first day on the job, and this is one of the most stressing experiences of your life. Pharmacy school did not prepare you for this at all.

You walk over to a side counter off in the corner of the room and collapse into a nearby chair, slumping your face against the smoothly painted, wooden countertop. After a moment, you incline your head to view the contents on the table and grab an opaque baggy from the top. Sitting upright, you open the bag and gently pour out what’s inside. A couple capped syringes tumble out, and you examine three.

_Probopharyngitis:_  
Cure: None  
Symptoms: sneezing, coughing, sore throat, fever  
Level: 1  
This is a slightly opaque fluid. 

_Gastromelintoma:_  
Cure: None  
Symptoms: severe indigestion, diarrhea, vomiting, nausea, possible death  
Level: 2  
This is a clear fluid. 

_AVERSA:_  
Cure: None  
Symptoms: weakness, coughing, high fever, nausea, persistent migraine, severe stomach pain, possible death  
Level: 4  
This is a slightly opaque fluid. 

You’ve had this package since your first year in university. When you first received it, it was filled with various syringes, all with a different bacteria or virus that you needed to make a cure for. Normally, in school, you’d work with someone and test the sample on a synthetic, then work on creating drugs to cure the disease entirely, or treat the symptoms. Now the bag is a quarter full, as over the course of a couple years, you managed to successfully treat most of the viruses and bacteria in it. It’s partially why you became so well-known among the labs and professors—you were the only one in your class that managed to finish off more than half of the bag by graduation.

But you were still intent on finishing all of it. Most of the syringes that you had made cures for already previously had cures, and the drugs you made in school were only practice for the real thing. Later, you found out that the ones remaining in your bag were the diseases without cures, and that everyone had high hopes that you would successfully create them. It was quite a lot of pressure on you, but you’re determined to save the lives of people with those diseases.

You look the syringes over one more time, and mentally decide that you’ll inject Dave with the level one next time. You don’t want to risk too much, and he’ll definitely be able to fight off a simple cold, just in case you can’t come up with a cure in time. The guilt still tugs at you, but you ward it off by standing abruptly, shoving the syringes back into the baggy, and making for the decontamination chamber and the exit.

Figuring you’ve had enough for one day, you head to the kitchen to get a snack, but on your way, you hear the familiar sounds of car explosions and a particularly amazing actor, and follow the noise.

You find Dave in his room, the door left slightly open and unlocked. You’re ecstatic to find that he’s taking advantage of the sources of entertainment you left in there. Apparently, you’re so ecstatic that you burst into his room, shouting, “I love that movie!”

He jumps back immediately, his speed and reflexes quickly bringing him to the far side of the room, away from you, and the reaction makes your heart pang a little bit.

You raise your hands up defensively. “Sorry, I’m kind of… passionate about this movie, and I’m just genuinely happy that you’re using some of the stuff I provided!”

He eases back from the wall. “The movie’s kind of shitty.”

You scoff. “What do you mean? It’s great! Nic cage is a pretty epic actor.”

“From what I’ve seen, he’s not all that.”

“Is too!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Dave.”

“John.”

You stop for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever used your name without malice. The realization makes you grin a little. You could get used to that!

“Cat got your tongue?” Dave asks, smirking. He’s walked back to around where you are, and now you’re only a couple feet away.

“No!” you insist. “Hey, do you want to watch the movie together? It’ll be fun!”

He takes a step back, his face suddenly turning somber at the thought of spending quality time with the person who would hypothetically ruin his life sooner or later. “I don’t really consider this that fun. And I’d rather not watch that movie anyways.” Clearly shaken out of the playful throes of your previous arguing, he absconds from his room. “I’ll be back or something,” you hear him mumble.

Maybe you went a little too far. Still, you want to be friends with him. You want him to open up to you, but surely someone with untrusting eyes like him can’t do that so easily—and you can’t blame him for it. It’s not his fault; research with synthetics has been overly exploited and deemed justified for far too long.

You wonder if maybe you can catch up to him and maybe talk to him a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I'm not so hot with medical terminology, so I had to do quite some research. All the diseases there are 100% made up for the sake of the story though, so you won't find them on Google! Thanks for reading!


End file.
